


Locked Room Mystery

by DBSommer



Category: Azumanga Daioh, Goblin Slayer (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DBSommer/pseuds/DBSommer
Summary: Goblin Slayer is only in this a little, but he's definitely needed for it. And who doesn't love Osaka.
Kudos: 1





	Locked Room Mystery

Locked Room Mystery

A Goblin Slayer fanfic

As always I do not own the rights to Goblin Slayer

You can contact me at 

tsommer@zoominternet.net

My works are stored at 

Fanfiction.net and a03

Writer’s Note: Now this is not going to seem like a Goblin Slayer fic at first with the set up focusing on someone else, but it is. It doesn’t work without him, so just be patient, and I hoped amused. And yeah, it has a dead goblin, so it’s a Goblin Slayer fic with a slain goblin. Who’d a thunk it? It’s also humor-oriented like all my other GS stuff so there’s that to consider, too. 

Oh yes, and we have a cameo from a character I’ve used a lot from another series. Because her style was perfect for this.

Enough babble. On with the fic.

Xxxxxxxxxxx  
A man, dressed in a deerstalker and trenchcoat, entered the palatial estate house as though he were a detective that had just been called in to the scene of a murder investigation. 

Because he was. No one with that cliched look could be anything else. 

As he entered the house he spotted the police officer that was already on the scene. He tipped his deerstalker in her direction. “Greetings. I’m Inspector Sherlock L. Kindaichi. And contrary to what you might think, I was not named after three of the most famous detectives in the world. My parents named me after two famous jai alia players and their fourth favorite letter.”

“Is there really such a thing as a ‘famous’ jai alia player?” the officer asked.

“Fame is subjective, but yes, the definition probably has been stretched to the limit with that one,” Kindaichi admitted. “And you are?”

“Officer Ayumu Kasuga. But everyone calls me ‘Osaka’.” She bowed before her superior.

“No doubt you acquired that name in school because you hailed from that region, and you became good friends with the girl who gave you that nickname.”

Osaka’s eyes widened. “How did you know that?”

“To paraphrase one of my detective namesakes, ‘It was elementary, my dear’.”

“No, it was in high school, not elementary school.”

“I… see,” he said slowly.

She followed up with, “Do you always quote your namesakes?”

“Frequently.”

“It’s a good thing you weren’t named after Tourette’s, then.”

“I… see.” It came out more slowly this time. “I understand the CSI team hasn’t arrived yet.”

“They’re investigating the disappearance of multiple children at a chocolatier’s factory.”

“Sounds like some sticky business there,” Kindaichi said. “Perhaps we’d better move on to the matter at hand. Let’s check out the scene.”

He followed Osaka into a palatial dining room with a decidedly medieval motif. Ancient weapons, most of them ending in sharp points, lined the walls. Coats of Arms were scattered about, adding bright color to the decor. A huge dining room table with a massive full course meal and plates dominated the center of the room. Suits of armor were everywhere. 

Several people were in the room, patiently waiting. But what caught everyone’s attention was the small, brown figure with spindly arms and legs, which was impaled through the chest to the wall by a spear. His boney legs weren’t touching the ground, and he hung there, suspended. A puddle of viscous fluid decorated the wooden floor beneath him. The eyes in his hideous face stared off, unseeing.

Osaka began her report. “I was on the premises to serve a warrant on outstanding parking tickets when I saw the body. I immediately ordered the grounds sealed off and rounded everybody up. There are security cameras covering the grounds in every way, so I know no one left. Also I had been in the room earlier and there was no body then.”

“Excellent work.” The Inspector walked over to the being impaled to the wall. “Judging by the characteristics and body shape, along with the texture of its skin and tinted nature of the blood, I can safely pronounce this is a goblin.”

“I thought they had fabulous hair,” Osaka said.

Kindaichi shook his head. “That’s a misconception thanks to Hollywood. They’re terrible singers by any standard as well. And you don’t want to know what the goblin definition of ‘romancing’ a woman is. No, this is very much a typical goblin that was murdered.”

“I don’t think he was murdered, Sir,” Osaka said. “I’m pretty sure I solved the case while waiting for you.” 

“Oh? What’s your theory?”

“He choked to death on a chicken bone.”

That lifted the detective’s eyebrow. “I believe you might have overlooked a couple of rather critical details. The first is they served ham, not chicken, at dinner.”

Osaka looked over at the dinner table. Sure enough, an entire roasted pig sat in the middle of it.

“The second is he’s rather meticulously impaled with a spear through his heart.”

Osaka’s carefully examined the body, and her eyes widened. “Of course. That means it’s death from natural causes.”

That made his brow lift higher. “And how do you figure that?”

“A spear was thrust through his heart, so naturally that caused him to die.”

“I… see.” It took a great deal of effort to cause his brow to return to its original state. “I believe we should interview the suspects in this murder. One of them is surely the culprit. A simple interrogation should be sufficient to figure out this type of locked room mystery.” Just as Osaka opened her mouth her quickly added, “I know the room wasn’t locked, I was referring to the suspect being from the pool of people on the estate and that it couldn’t be an outside party, since there was no opportunity for it to be anyone else.”

She closed her mouth.

Then opened it again. “So who do you think the killer is?”

“It’s always the one you least suspect.” The Inspector went up to the first person: an extremely attractive, chesty, blonde woman in a German beer outfit. 

Osaka said, “This is the French maid, Sophie. When I first arrived, she served me shish kabab hors d’oeuvres and an appletini. Non-alcoholic.”

“Good evening, ‘Guv’nor,” she said. 

The Inspector examined her with a critical eye, “You’re a French maid, dressed in a dirndl, with a British accent, who serves oversized mid-eastern appetizers and desecrates mixed drinks by not putting alcohol in them? You seem both horribly confused and terrible at your job. Exactly how is it you found employment here?”

“I’m 38C-24-34, luv.”

“Oh, well that would explain it.” He started toward the next person in the room.

“I don’t suspect her since she’s a maid, not a butler. Does that mean she’s the killer?” Osaka asked.

“It’s distinctly possible.” He moved on to the next suspect: a white-haired gentleman with bushy mutton chops and a mustache. He wore a beige jacket, white pants, and a monocle in one eye. In his right hand was a large wrench. 

“A wrench?” the Inspector asked.

“Bit of a plumbing issue I wanted to help out with. I rather enjoy home improvements. Clogged pipes.”

“When my plumbing’s clogged, I use laxatives,” Osaka provided. 

Kindaichi fought to keep his brow down. “And your name Mister…?”

“It’s Colonel. Colonel Mustard, officer.”

The inspector looked around, his eyes taking in everything. “Colonel Mustard in the dining room with a wrench. Intriguing. I’ll remember that.” He moved on.

Osaka pondered the matter. “Hmm. If he’s holding a wrench, then he probably would have used it to twist the goblin’s head off rather than choking him with a chicken bone. I suspect him even less than the maid, which means he’s probably the killer.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” The Inspector moved to the next person. He was a male Japanese teenager of average looks, average height, average weight, and a mundane black hair style.

“My god. I’ve never seen someone as isekai bait as you,” Kindaichi said. “Have you ever done anything remarkable?”

“I’ve gotten every trophy for Street Fighter XXIII,” he said in a voice that sounded exactly like every average teenager ever heard. “My name is--.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Inspector informed him before moving on.

“Is he the killer?” Osaka asked.

“No. He’s never done anything in his entire existence. No one who’s that default bland could. And I doubt he’ll still be in this dimension before the case is over.” He once again moved to the next suspect. It was a bald, older gentleman in a wheelchair.

“You must be Professor X,” Osaka said.

The man turned livid. “I can’t believe you just called me that! Just because I’m bald, my last name is Xander, and I have a doctorate in 14th century Peruvian harmonica construction does not mean I should be called Professor X!”

“Actually it does,” the Inspector said, then asked. “What’s your first name?”

“Octavius.” 

“I’ll call you Doc Ock then,” Osaka said.

The man buried his head in his hands. 

Kindaichi was merciful and moved on. 

“It seems he’s the most unlikely of all. Should I just go ahead and arrest him?” Osaka asked.

“Not just yet. Oh, I guarantee one of those people is the killer. And I see that bland guy is already gone, just as I anticipated.” Both the Maid and Mustard were staring in confusion at where the youth had previously been. “I don’t mean to boast, but when you’re an inspector of my caliber, you see clues that no one else can see. Notice details that everyone else overlooks. A piece of fiber. A single dog hair. A smoking gun in someone’s hand while standing over a dead body, the hammer clicking on spent round after spent round. All of these have been subtle clues I’ve used in the past to identify the culprit. No one can escape my detection and deduction. Already my mind is centering on the killer like a nocked arrow aimed at the bullseye.”

“Then you don’t need to talk to the last suspect?” Osaka asked.

He looked around the room but saw no one. “What suspect?”

“Him.” She pointed at a set of armor.

He was about to ask why he would talk to a suit of armor when it moved its head slightly, making the Inspector jump. It took a moment to compose himself. “My goodness. You can certainly stand still.”

“There are times when I have to lie in wait, and since armor makes noise I must remain motionless for long periods of time,” the armored man explained.

“What is your name? Kindaichi inquired.

“Goblin Slayer.”

Osaka announced, “Since you’re by far the most obvious suspect, it’s impossible you’re the killer. You’re free to go.”

“Can I take my spear out of the dead goblin first?” he asked.

Inspector Kindaichi simply curled into a fetal ball. Some days it wasn’t worth getting out of bed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
[END NOTES]

So like I said, it’s not exactly Goblin Slayer centric, but we needed him to get in that final punchline. 

And yes, that was Osaka from Azumanga. 

And yes, the disappearing children at the chocolatiers was a reference to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Someone even did a fic with that and the CSI TV show.


End file.
